


A Favor Returned

by laschatzi



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fortune Cookies, Girls' Night Out, Kissing A Stranger, Modern AU, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9872711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laschatzi/pseuds/laschatzi
Summary: modern AU: Emma is celebrating New Year's Eve at a bar with her girls, and Ruby has fortune cookies for everyone. A run-in with a handsome, but infuriating stranger doesn't help to lift the mood.





	

 

Like every year, Ruby Lucas makes a big show giving out the small tulle packets with the homemade fortune cookies she brought back to Boston from her Christmas visit to her grandmother. It's tradition that she and her bunch of friends each get one to open at midnight on New Year's Eve.

Like every year, she reminds them, “Granny says not to open them before midnight!”

Like every year, her girlfriend Mulan jokes, “Wait, those are Chinese, shouldn't _I_ be the one giving them to you?”

Ruby rolls her eyes, “Don't be so cliché. It's getting old.”

Emma Swan frowns suspiciously at the cookie in her hand. “Wait, this is a trick? There's some stupid message inside just to...”

To be fair, it wouldn't be the first time. Granny Lucas, at whose house Emma spent a lot of time in her youth, has tried more than once to send encouraging messages _especially_ to her. Over the last years, however, it has become more and more annoying, and Emma started to feel the pain of every only single among a bunch of friends who are all happily taken. Endearing as it is that they all care so much for her, it's still unnerving when even your youth's friend's grandmother tries to get you to finally find a boyfriend – _or a girlfriend, whatever floats your boat_ , as Granny put it so eloquently.

Mary Margaret Nolan – the fourth in their round, happily married to Emma's adoptive brother David who is currently at home babysitting their six months old son, having insisted _girls' New Year's Eve is sacrosanct_ – giggles, “Oh, come on, Emma...”

Ruby huffs, “You and your goddamn suspicions, Ems. Here, let's put them all back on the counter, and you can choose whichever damn cookie you fucking want.”

And, with a big gesture, she tosses her own tulle package on the counter of the bar they're spending every New Year's Eve at. Mulan and Mary Margaret follow her example, and after a short hesitation, Emma puts hers down, too. Ruby waves her hands at her. “Now, come on, get it over with. Pick the cookie that looks the most harmless to you, and then I'm not hearing any of your complaints any more.”

“Fine.” Emma snatches one of the three others. The rest is distributed quickly, and the women resume their chitchat and catching up on how they have spent the past festive days; nothing spectacular, really.

Nothing sensational has happened in either of their lives lately – no drama, no new job, no new relationship. Or, in Emma's case, no relationship at all. Fifteen minutes before midnight, Ruby starts to toy nervously with her tulle package and finally unties the tiny ribbon that's holding it together.

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret scolds, “What are you doing? I thought we weren't supposed to open them before midnight?”

“Oh come on,” her friend waves her off, “we're almost there anyway. And I'm bored.”

“Doesn't that mean bad luck?” Mulan asks with an indulgent smile.

“I won't tell if you don't, babe,” Ruby replies and presses a quick kiss to her lips before she unfolds her tulle.

“Why the hell not,” Emma comments and starts to open hers, too, and mere seconds later Mary Margaret and Mulan follow their example.

Ruby's the first to crack her cookie open; she throws one half into her mouth and unfolds the tiny slip of paper, reading it out loud: “Kindness matters. Tell each of your friends at least one thing you love about them.”

“Well, that should be easy, as we're all fantastic,” Emma comments dryly.

“Most of the time,” Ruby replies with a wink and takes a swig of her beer. “Hmmm, lemme see.” She turns to her girlfriend, the easiest choice to start with. “Okay. I love how you take my crap so gracefully that eventually I always recognize by myself when I'm wrong,” she says, and Mulan averts her eyes with a smile.

“Aww come on, you're not that terrible,” she replies and quickly reaches for Ruby's hand to squeeze her fingers.

“That's debatable,” Emma throws in.

“Revenge is sweet,” Ruby merely grumbles and turns to Mary Margaret. “You...” She smiles fondly and points her index finger at the petite woman in a teasing move, “You're able to find beauty and something positive even in the smallest, ugliest, darkest thing.” She shrugs. “Annoying as fuck, but can also save a life.” Even though she tries to keep it nonchalant, her voice is unexpectedly serious – unexpected, because normally Ruby Lucas isn't the one for the deep and meaningful words.

Everyone looks at Mary Margaret, who waves them off, clearly a little embarrassed by Ruby's honest praise. It's true though: everyone's already made fun of Mary Margaret's _hope speeches_ , as they call them, but whenever things get really desperate for any of them, they all instinctively turn to her for encouragement and inspiration.

“Well, Emma,” Ruby turns to her after a moment, “you may be prickly as hell, but you always have your friends' back.” Emma gasps in exasperation, and the others chuckle while she continues, “When it comes to defend someone you love, you shoot first and ask second.”

Emma crosses her arms in a defensive gesture. “I'm not prickly!” she points out grumpily.

Ruby points both index fingers at her like guns. “Annnnd _that's_ the incomparable Emma Swan!” she announces dramatically, and everyone ( _including_ Emma) laughs. “Wanna go next, babe?” she turns to Mulan, and her petite girlfriend nods.

She cracks her cookie open, unfolds the paper slip and grins when she reads it. “Well, I daresay that's much easier for me than it would have been for you,” she remarks and winks at Ruby before she reads out aloud, “Just take a step back and listen: be silent for the next 30 minutes.”

“Funny,” Ruby replies dryly, a benevolent smile on her face, and Mulan makes a zipping move with her fingers along the seam of her lips and points at Mary Margaret.

She shrugs and runs her fingers through her dark pixie cut. “I still think we should have waited, but I won't play the spoilsport,” she declares and opens her cookie.

“Gotta be a first,” Emma murmurs and raises her hand to Ruby who high fives her without looking.

“Good thing you're not prickly,” Mary Margaret retorts and mimics Emma's gesture, a giggling Ruby slapping _her_ palm this time. Emma just presses her lips into a smile and tilts her head in defeat; her sister-in-law seldom serves sarcasm, but _when_ she fires an arrow, it always hits the bull's eye. Mary Margaret clears her throat and reads out loud, “Show your friends that you trust them: tell them a secret you've told no one before.”

“Ooooh!” Ruby claps her hands. “Storytime! Reveal your darkest secret, come on!”

“As if,” Emma snorts, “Mary Margaret's way too good to have an actual _dark_ secret.”

“Still waters run deep and dirty,” Ruby waves her off and gives a stern-looking Mary Margaret an encouraging nod. “Go ahead and hit us with your worst!”

“I'm not _that_ boring, you know,” Mary Margaret comments and scoffs at Emma.

“Not boring!” Emma replies quickly, in a soothing tone. “Just a pure cinnamon roll.”

“Well then,” her sister-in-law grumbles and draws a deep breath, and for a tiny moment it looks like she's hesitating, but then she blurts out, directed at no one in particular, “Before David and I officially _met_ , I've... stalked him for a few weeks.”

Emma frowns in confusion. “What?”

Mary Margaret shrugs almost defiantly. “I saw him two or three times in the coffee shop where I get my coffee to go in the morning. Always at the same time.”

“That's how my bro rolls,” Emma agrees with a slow nod. “And?” she prompts.

“And... I came back there every day at the same time for the next three weeks,” Mary Margaret goes on, “drank my coffee there instead of taking it to go, just to be able to watch him.”

“Watch him what?” Ruby wants to know.

Mary Margaret shrugs again. “Just watch. What he was doing. Whether he was meeting someone, reading a book or the paper, making a call, whatever.”

“Does he know?” Emma asks curiously.

“He never found out.”

“Wow...” Emma folds her arms and scrutinizes her sister-in-law with an incredulous, yet impressed expression.

“Girl!” Ruby exclaims in a gleeful voice, “You're a creep!”

“Please!” Mary Margaret huffs. “You've done far worse!”

“Yeah, but I'm me,” Ruby replies dryly and gestures towards Emma with a solid amount of impatience in her movements. “Your turn, Ems,” she demands and adds, “you fought so hard for this – it better be good!”

Emma rolls her eyes and unfolds her own mysterious slip of paper that could be very well a tiny rolled parchment with some spell scribbled on it in ancient runes. “Okay,” she announces and wets her lips, “here we go.” Her green eyes scan the paper superficially, and she looks pretty annoyed already. “Seriously?!” she blurts out. “Whoa.”

Mary Margaret and the silent Mulan frown while Ruby literally starts to hop up and down like a child at Christmas before getting to open the gifts. “Come on!” she urges. “What does it say?!”

Emma sighs and wrinkles her nose in contempt. “Carpe diem,” she reads out aloud, “Kiss the first person who pays you a compliment.” The other three break out in laughter almost immediately, and she sighs in an exaggerated manner. “Okay, let's get it over with. Ruby, say something nice.”

The brunette narrows her eyes. “What?”

Emma waves her hand impatiently. “Say something nice,” she repeats, “and I'll give you a smooch.”

Ruby raises her hands. “No way, Ems! I'm not gonna cheat! The fortune cookie has to be paid respect!”

“Are you kidding me?!” Emma snaps. “ _You_ didn't even wait until midnight to open it.”

Ruby shrugs. “Well, but now that they're open, I'm not gonna mess with it.”

“But how is that cheating?” Emma crosses her arms in a gesture of annoyance. “Are you saying I don't deserve a compliment?”

Ruby smirks. “You know what I mean. You're not supposed to kiss one of _us_.”

Emma grins, but it looks a tiny bit forced. “The cookie doesn't say it has to be a stranger!” she insists and secretly shakes her head at her friend's stubbornness. Really, sometimes she's impossible – and she calls _her_ the prickly one? Some nerve.

Ruby shakes her head in a final move. “Sorry, babe. Not gonna happen.”

Emma huffs. “Fine, be a bitch,” she dismisses Ruby and turns to her sister-in-law. “Then you do it, sis o'mine.”

Mary Margaret squirms a little. “Emma...”

“ _Mary Margaret?”_ Only a little threat sneaks into Emma's voice.

“I... I'm sorry.” She shakes her dark head.

“ _What?!”_

The shrillness in Emma's voice makes Mary Margaret raise her chin in defiance, a very typical move she's not even aware of. “Ruby is right,” she declares firmly, much to her friend's amusement. “That would be cheating.”

Emma can't believe her ears. “You are honestly telling me...” but her voice trails off when she realizes none of her friends is going to change their mind. “Okay, forget it.” She turns to Mulan with a determined look on her face, but before she can say anything, the petite woman holds up her own paper slip and points to it, pointing at her mouth afterwards, lips pressed closed together. _Of fucking course. Be silent for the next 30 minutes._ Emma clenches her fists. “And you're supposed to be friends? Well, this is great.” Really angry now, she combs her hair behind her ears with both hands and takes a step back. “I need a moment.”

She turns around on her heels in an abrupt move with the intention to head to the bathroom – and bumps into a solid obstacle at full tilt. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, for a moment her vision is actually blurred, and she feels the front of her blouse get soaked when the guy she's bumped into almost drops his bottle of beer.

“Whoa, careful there!” She stumbles a little and feels a firm grip at her elbow, steadying her. The guy's taller than her – she has to tilt back her head a little to look at him – well-built (at least judging from what she _felt_ when she bumped into the hard planes of his chest) and, there's only one word to describe it accurately, annoyingly _handsome_. “You alright, lass?” he asks in a low voice with a ridiculous accent, and there's a hint of amusement lurking in the corners of his way-too-blue eyes that's downright _infuriating_.

Finally, she finds her voice again. “What the hell!” she snaps and wriggles her elbow roughly from his grip. “You spilled beer all over me!”

He has the nerve to actually raise an eyebrow. “Apologies, love,” he replies, and now the seemingly genuine concern is completely replaced by an insufferably insolent, smug sort of amusement, “but actually, _you_ bumped into _me_.” As his full lips pull into a smirk, the fine skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle and draws her attention to the color of his eyes again. A line she's read somewhere shoots through her mind (not that she'd be able to place it anywhere): _his eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not_ , and that's so terribly cheesy that she's furious at herself for thinking it.

That riles her up even more. “I'm not your _love_!” She snatches a paper napkin from the counter and dabs at her blouse as furiously as uselessly. “Don't you have eyes to watch where you're walking?!” she snarls.

“I do,” he replies in an indulgent tone, “but alas, you were too fast. Can I do anything to–”

“Just get lost!” she cuts him off rudely and waves her hand. “You've done enough already!”

“As the lady wishes,” he replies, low his voice and a provocative glint in his eyes as he tilts his head in the sarcastic imitation of a bow. “Congratulations on your incomparably fiery temperament,” he adds with another insolent smirk and turns away to follow his friend to the other end of the bar.

“Asshole,” she growls and continue to rub at her blouse. “Great! Now I reek like a boozer!”

Ruby chuckles. “Excellent!”

Emma's head snaps up, and she glares daggers at her friend. “What?!”

“Problem solved!” the brunette exclaims gleefully.

Mary Margaret giggles. “Oh Ruby, you're so mean!”

“Not my rules!” Ruby replies, throwing her hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of innocence.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!” Emma snaps, directed at both.

Ruby motions her head vaguely in the direction of the end of the counter. “There's your target, Ems!” she declares.

Emma frowns. “I don't understand...”

Ruby smirks. “Didn't Mr. Blue Eyes just praise your fiery temperament? Yay for a guy who doesn't just appreciate your exterior.”

“ _What?!”_ Emma sputters. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Ruby shakes her head slowly. “Not even remotely.”

Emma's jaw drops. “Seriously? That wasn't a compliment!”

Mary Margaret sways her head from side to side. “Well, technically–”

“He was just being _sarcastic!_ ” Emma hisses under her breath, because she really doesn't need to draw any attention to them and their petty little discussion.

“And _you_ are being a chicken,” Ruby comments gleefully.

Emma puts her hands to her hips aggressively. “Listen, I'm not–”

Ruby tilts her head. “So are you or are you _not_ gonna obey the fortune cookie?” she challenges, her eyes glittering with mischief.

Emma grimaces. “ _God_ , fine,” she presses through clenched teeth, because Emma Swan _never_ backs off from a challenge, as stupid as it may be. “You're being completely ridiculous, but – _fine_.”

Ruby is unimpressed and waves her hand nonchalantly in the direction of the other end of the bar where the guy swaggered off to with his friend. “I can live with that.”

Emma slams her fortune cookie on the desk, pulverizing it, and glares one last time at Ruby and the other two – less than helpful – girls, before she heads for her doom. _Mr. forget-me-not_ is casually leaning against the counter, his back to her, and talking to his friend, another tall guy with lighter hair but similar eyes. She sighs, angry at herself, because she knows this is all her own fault. If she hadn't been that goddamn stubborn about that fucking cookie. She stops, trying to gather her wits, and in that very moment, he arches his spine a little, throws back his head and laughs. The sound is warm and smokey, rumbling up from deep within, and she's surprised to feel the corners of her own mouth twitch briefly, almost in a reflex. Then she shakes her head as if to clear it from some cobwebs and takes the last few steps.

The guy standing opposite from him notices her when she's standing right behind him and eyes her curiously. Before he can say anything, she clears her throat and taps her target on the shoulder. He turns around, and she's immediately annoyed again, because _fuck_ – he must be wearing contacts, this blue can't be real. He stares at her, baffled for a moment, before he raises his eyebrows and his hands. “Listen, lass, I already apologized for my mishap,” he tells her, only the slightest indignation in his voice, “What else do you want?”

Hastily, she shakes her head. “Nothing, I want nothing,” she assures, and he narrows his eyes and tilts his head in question, obviously terribly confused. _Adorable_ , is the word that shoots through her mind, and angrily, she pushes it aside. “Don't take this the wrong way,” she says quickly, “it's nothing personal.”

He looks even more confused and like he's about to reply something, but he never gets to do so, because she grabs him by the lapels of the waistcoat he's wearing and presses her lips to his. His eyes widen, but he's too shocked to react, and after three seconds it's over. She smiles – _flustered? Relieved?_ – and pats him on the chest. “Happy New Year,” she says a bit more smugly than she feels, because her stomach thrums a little. She doesn't dare to enjoy his reaction a little longer, because she can't take the risk to lose the upper hand she clearly has at the moment.

Emma turns around on her heel and returns to her girls in triumph, not looking back. But somehow it's like she can feel his eyes following her. Straightening her back, she shakes off the feeling.

Mary Margaret is obviously the most impatient one of the girls; she's almost jumping up and down a little. “How was it?” she inquires, and Mulan who keeps stoically quiet, obeying her own fortune cookie, nods and waves urgently.

Emma plays it cool; serves them right. “What do you mean?” she asks nonchalantly.

“Come on, spill!” Ruby demands to know and smacks her upper arm unceremoniously with the back of her hand. “You know exactly what she means. He surely looks like he's a good kisser, with those juicy smackers!” She nods her head in the direction Emma came from.

“Well, I wouldn't know,” Emma replies, and she's not lying. The guy's lips felt good, that's true – they were warm and soft, yet firm underneath her own, but that says nothing about his abilities to use them. She shrugs. “He did nothing,” she goes on and emphasizes, “Thank God.”

“Aw _Emma!_ ” Ruby huffs and throws her hands in the air. “What the fuck? You completely missed the point of that fortune cookie!”

“To amuse you, or what?” Emma shoots back hotly.

“That too,” Ruby admits without the slightest hint of guilt, “but above all you were supposed to have a little _fun_ with that.”

“Oh, I had _so_ much fun when that idiot spilled beer all over me,” Emma hisses.

Ruby rolls her eyes. _“Prickly,”_ is all she says.

Emma opens her mouth for a fiery reply, but Mary Margaret interrupts them by shoving glasses of champagne into their hands. “It's only a minute to midnight!” she scolds. “Celebrating time!”

They go through their annual New Year's Eve routine – counting down the last seconds, clinking their glasses with loud cheers, hugging and kissing each other – but Emma finds she's lacking her usual enthusiasm. She hasn't had the best year, but then she always feels like that, every year. It wasn't terrible either, she's had it far worse, but... it just seems so pointless sometimes. Then she scolds herself, like every year, tells herself she's lucky, because she _is_ – compared to where she was ten years ago, she's _very_ lucky. This bunch of friends, even if they annoy the hell out of her sometimes, is the living proof of it. Sometimes she just wished...

Her thoughts are interrupted by a crushing hug Mary Margaret pulls her into, and the four of them clink their glasses once more. Suddenly, though, Emma notices that the three others fall silent and stare at her – no, actually they stare _past_ her. She frowns in confusion and slowly turns around to see what it is that has thrown her girls off track.

She doesn't know what she expected, but what she sees throws her off track even more. Much to her horror – or confusion? And did her stomach just jump? – she sees the guy from before standing behind her, _very_ closely. He smiles, looking a lot less shocked and a lot more mischievous now than he did before, and after the initial shock she rolls her eyes. _Oh great._

Emma puts her glass down on the counter and crosses her arms, raising her chin when she addresses him, “Listen buddy, I–“

The guy raises his hand, and oddly enough, she falls silent, trying thought not to stare into his eyes. Her glance falls on his lips, but that's not a good idea either, because it's _very_ distracting. “Just one thing,” he says, “Where I come from, we return a favor.” Briefly, a devilish glint illuminates his eyes when he adds, _“In kind.”_

She shakes her head. “Wait, I didn't do you a–“

But he interrupts her again by taking her face in both hands and kissing her. It's not like he's grabbing her, he's more gently cupping her jaw on either side, his thumbs on her cheeks and his warm fingertips lightly resting below her ears. She doesn't know why her instincts haven't made her push him away in a reflex or simply kneeing him, but somehow she can't seem to process any coherent thought that makes any sense. All she knows is she should panic, but she doesn't. As if it's stronger than her, her eyes flutter shut and she remains still and pliant while this infuriating stranger kisses her. And unlike her own action before, this _is_ a kiss, not just a sterile pressing of lips on lips, and it lasts longer than just three seconds. How long, she wouldn't be able to tell; it could have been ten seconds, a minute or twenty. It's fierce and firm, but not aggressive as his lips move across hers in a tantalizing rhythm. His tongue brushes along the seam of her lips, and instinctively, she parts them slightly, but he doesn't try to push in. Sparks prickle along her hairline at the back of her neck.

After what seems an eternity, he releases her, and it's not an abrupt letting go of her, it's slow and gentle, and she could have sworn she feels his thumbs brush lightly across her cheek before his mouth pulls back, his hands still at her jaw. She needs a second before her eyes can focus again, and only when she does, he lets go of her face, smiles and pats her shoulder, mimicking her own gesture from before. “Happy New Year, love.”

And with that, he brushes past her, his friend (actually, he looks more like his brother) with him, and Emma can't do anything but stare while her girls start to make strange noises. She seems to have a tunnel view and perceives her friends' excited chatter as a mishmash of words.

There's Ruby's voice: “Did you see that, holy shit!”

“What was that even–” That sounds like Mary Margaret.

And Ruby again: “Earth to Emma? Oh my God.” This time she uses her elbow on Emma's ribcage, and that's what finally makes her snap out of it.

“What?” she snaps and focuses on Ruby.

Mary Margaret gets Ruby's elbow now while the latter points her finger at Emma. “I know that look!”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You know nothing,” she dismisses her friend.

“Ah, don't you _Jon Snow_ me, Ems,” Ruby scolds, “You look like you're under a spell. You know, that kind of Harry Potter shit where they yell a Latin word at you, and then you're unable to move.”

Mary Margaret, the nerd, offers, “ _Petrificus totalus._ ”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ruby waves her off impatiently and continues to inquire Emma. “Who the hell _was_ that guy?!”

Emma snorts. “No one. Just an ordinary jackass like all the others.”

Ruby raises a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Oh, come on. Just ordinary? You look like he just kissed the living daylights out of you.”

“Yeah, well, and so?” Emma throws her hands in the air dramatically. “Do you see him anywhere? Cause I don't. The classic hit and run guy.” Damn, she didn't want to sound like she's upset about that. Because – _why the hell_ would she be upset?

Her sister-in-law speaks up quietly, “Emma?”

She whirls around to Mary Margaret. _“What?”_ she presses through clenched teeth.

An incredulous smile tugs at Mary Margaret's lips. “Look.” She reaches out and pulls something from the pocket of Emma's leather jacket. It's a slip of paper. Emma frowns and snatches the thing from her fingers, trying to rein in her curiosity. It's neatly folded, and when she unfolds it, she sees a line of numbers along with some letters, probably a name. For a moment, she's taken aback; he must have slipped it into her pocket while he was kissing her. Somehow, it angers her even more that she didn't notice him doing it. She doesn't take more than just a very brief glance.

“What do you say now?” Ruby asks almost triumphantly, and Emma shrugs.

“That he's a pretentious idiot,” she replies. “As if I'd call him.” In a determined move, she crumples the paper and tosses it angrily onto the counter. “Can we order another round of drinks now to celebrate the New Year, or what?” she suggests grumpily. She really feels like she needs a drink now.

The fortune cookie/kissing incident isn't mentioned any further among them, and they spend the rest of the night aggressively pretending nothing of it ever happened, but when they leave later, around 1 am, Ruby slips something into her prickly friend's purse without her noticing – a crumpled paper slip she rescued from the beer- and champagne-stained counter.

Over the following weeks, Emma sometimes frowns and/or shakes her head and her friends' sometimes weird behavior. They seem to be observing her a lot when they think she's not noticing, exchanging suspicious glances, asking her if there's anything new, no, nothing in particular, just _anything_? and seem somehow disappointed when she tells them that absolutely everything is the same as always.

It takes her four weeks until she finds the phone number.

Emma has never been the girly type who needs to carry a matching purse for every outfit, and while she can appreciate that on someone else, she doesn't give a damn when it comes to herself. She owns exactly two purses – a fancy one and a sportive one, and she goes without carrying any of them whenever she can avoid it. So, she doesn't clean out her purse regularly, and she has been known to discover hidden treasures in the depths of it on more than one occasion, like a movies ticket for _Guardians Of The Galaxy_. So, most of the time her spacious purse sits on its place, a crammed shelf in her entrance hall.

Until the day she can't find her driving license anymore. After searching her car, a battered old yellow bug she often gets ridiculed for, her first thought is the purse (she will find the license a few days later in the pocket of one of her other leather jackets, and she'll always ask herself if that was destiny, maybe).

Just to be sure the driving license isn't there, she empties the sheer endless contents of the purse on her kitchen table. She finds a minglemangle of things like ear plugs, a spare key to her apartment she thought long lost... no driving license though. The crumpled slip of paper catches her attention immediately, and instead of just throwing it into the dustbin, she uncrumples it – that's something she has learned back in her darker days, when she was all but living on the street, from hand to mouth. Always unfold the paper – there could be something of value wrapped inside, or it could just _look_ like a slip of paper and be a dollar bill instead.

The moment she starts unfolding it, she knows what it is. The note stupid fortune cookie guy stuffed into her pocket after he... before he left. His number. She takes a thorough look at it this time, studies the bold, sweeping handwriting, and suddenly the face (that she has seen in weird, unsettling dreams in more than just one night) has a name.

Killian Jones.

 _Sounds as pompous as the handwriting looks_ , she thinks and huffs disdainfully. Must have been Ruby, that sneaky bitch with her twisted sense of humor, to rescue the stupid slip of paper from wherever she'd thrown it and to smuggle it into her purse then. _Should've burned the damn thing._

Yet, she doesn't burn it or throw it away now. But she should.

She smooths it out, the paper feels supple under her fingertips after being well crumpled at the bottom of her purse for weeks and studies the numbers, the letters, with some sort of odd fascination. _Killian Jones._

She shakes her head almost angrily and turns away, but leaves it alone, sitting there on the crammed shelf next to her purse. Every morning when she leaves for work and every evening when she returns home for the next week she tries not to look at it. Every time she fails.

The thing is haunting her, and she doesn't even know why. She only knows that if she gets rid of it, it will be even worse.

“Screw it,” she murmurs angrily one evening and snatches the paper before going to bed. Snuggled against her pillows, she places the paper slip on her knees and dials the number before typing out a message.

_Do you really think it gets you anywhere to sneak your number into the pocket of someone you randomly kissed?_

Her thumb is hovering over the “send” button for a full minute, but then she draws a deep breath and hits it. _Just to get it out of my system_ , she assures herself and puts her phone on the nightstand, not expecting an answer anyway. After all, it's been weeks. Probably he doesn't even remember...

With a rattling sound, the phone vibrates, making her jump. Emma stares at it incredulously for a second or two before she grabs is so hastily she almost drops it.

The reply is short but on point: _1\. you kissed me first 2. you just did text me, so... 3. what took you so long?_

“Really?” she snorts and types without hesitation: _Just so you know: I threw your number away. And that wasn't a kiss._

The answer comes immediately: _Bloody right it wasn't. And obviously, you do have my number._

She rolls her eyes and clarifies: _I have no idea how it ended up in my purse. Probably one of my meddlesome friends._

Suddenly, an images flashes her mind, and even though it's been only briefest moments that she saw the guy – Killian Jones – but she remembers it vividly, him raising his eyebrows in that amused way. Which is surely what he's doing now, his sarcastic reply proves it: _I see. And I assume she forced your hand now?_

This time, she needs a short pause before she retorts: _You're pretty smug._

_My sincere apologies if I came over that way. It wasn't my intention._

She can't help but smile at his somehow pompous vocabulary. _Are you always that wordy?_

He doesn't seem to take offense: _Well, I always found a decent vocabulary makes for an interesting conversation._

She doesn't even know why she's keeping up this exchange, but her fingers just can't seem to stop typing: _Only if you use it right._ After a short pause, she adds: _And I texted you because I was curious._

The reply comes promptly: _All you have to do is ask._

Emma hesitates for a moment, because honestly, she doesn't even know what she's doing here. Curious? About what even? _Why did you leave your number? Why not hit on me? Or just disappear?_

His answer is almost indignant: _Hit on a tipsy lass in a reckless mood? Bad form. And too easy. I love a challenge._

He has a point, she thinks. But that doesn't explain why he didn't just let it be. And about that, she gets more and more curious by the minute. So she types: _And why bother at all?_

This time, there's a long pause before the three dots start blinking. Emma gets nervous and is pissed at herself for it. Then the text comes through: _There was something in your eyes that spoke to me._

She shakes her head to herself, annoyed and disappointed at the same time. For a moment, she thought... _Srsly? We barely had eye contact. That sounds like a really bad pick up line._

_And yet, it is true._

She should just turn off her phone and go to sleep. This is pointless. _OK, so what did that something in my eyes say to you?_

After barely an instant, to quick for it being other than a spontaneous reply, two words appear on her screen: _Find me._

Emma feels like hit in the guts. It could still be one of the worst pick up lines of all times, but... what if it isn't? And if he wanted just a hit and run, he _would_ have hit on her right then, wouldn't he? This is the weirdest thing she's ever experienced – her well-trained, usually infallible instincts fail her miserably this time: they scream _danger!_ and _take the chance!_ at the same time. She drops her phone on her knees, staring at it like a rabbit would stare at a snake. A few minutes pass before it vibrates again, and this time there's only one word on the screen.

_Love?_

She waits for another minute, her fingertips so sweaty that the phone almost slips out of her grip before she types: _Swan._

_Excuse me?_

She draws a deep breath, asking herself what the fuck she's doing here, but then she shakes it off and types: _My name is Emma Swan._

And then it happens: No reply. Emma is mortified. So has he been playing with her all the time? And the moment she got serious he chickened out? Well, she called it, didn't she? When he walked out the bar right after the kiss on New Year's Eve. Yes, he left his number behind, but now, the moment she lets her guard down the tiniest bit and tells him her name, a sign that maybe, _just maybe_ she could get serious, he...

The phone rings. Horrified, she stares at the display: it's not a name from her contact list, but a number. Quickly, she scans the crumpled slip of paper in her hand, and her heart beats faster when she realizes there's no doubt. _He's calling her._ That stranger is calling her. What now? Was this whole text exchange something of a surreal back and forth, suddenly it becomes terrifyingly fucking _real_. How did this even happen? In a moment of complete and utter panic, her thumb hovers over the red “reject” button; but then she tells herself how ridiculous that would be, and she draws a deep breath and swipes it over the green one.

“Yeah?” she croaks.

A voice so low and warm it immediately engulfs her in comfort replies, “Swan. Pleased to meet you.”

She swallows her nervous chuckle. “Killian?” It sounds weird to say his name aloud.

“Aye. That's me.” She can see the amused twinkle in his eyes in her imagination, and suddenly the memory hits her of how blue his eyes actually are.

“You... you called,” she states unnecessarily and wants to bite her tongue the very same moment. Damn, why is she acting like an embarrassed, tongue-tied awkward teenager talking to their first crush?

But instead of the teasing quip she expected, he asks in a sincere voice, “Too forward?” Unlike what she expected, given his somewhat smug _I'm-irresistible-and-I-know-it_ -attitude, he seems to be actually considerate about her feelings which strikes a nerve in her. She has barely met any man who ever was.

She snorts a coy little laugh. “Given how we started out... hardly.”

There's a fractions of a second of pause before he asks quietly, “Would it be too forward if I asked you to... meet again?”

 _Whoa_. Emma almost gasps. “Why?” she wants to know. “Because... because of what my eyes told you?” Mainly to calm her own nerves, she tries to play it light and ironic.

“That,” he replies immediately and without any hesitation, “and because I want to see you again.”

Is he really asking her for a _date_? Nervously she chews on her lower lip. “But you don't know me,” she points out.

This time, there's a longer pause, and she already thinks she's scared him away, but then his answer comes, low and warm and reassuring.

“I know how you kiss.”

 


End file.
